


Sparring

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Series: The Bournshire Boys [24]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:47:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24974071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: Alistair & Cullen have very different thought processes when they're fighting.
Series: The Bournshire Boys [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/472279
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cullen and Alistair are 17 and 18, respectively, in the year 9:28 Dragon, when this takes place.

Alistair waited for the signal to start, watching Cullen beyond the occasional thick, fluffy snowflake. A trickle of sweat running under the layers of armor made him impatient. Sweating in winter? Absurd. But then, absurd armor saved lives, so… Cullen circled right, technically not advancing, and Alistair matched his step to keep that imaginary circle intact, careful to leave no gap in his defense. Snow crunched under their mail-booted feet. Alistair quirked his most flippant smile, but they weren’t kids anymore. They were playing with steel (unedged though!) and full plate, including the layers of chain and leather underneath. Alistair must force Cullen to yield, without killing or getting killed.

Fat chance, Alistair thought. Not that they’d kill each other, but they were well-matched in sparring. Neither would yield soon. He’d noticed a tendency for Ser Clancy to pair them last. No need to delay others’ dinner, Alistair supposed.

\---

Cullen studied Alistair, pondering the right approach this time and ignoring his opponent’s irritating smile. Cullen prepared for unpredictability when sparring Alistair. And yet, there wasn’t a chink in his defenses: shield position, sword angle, and even posture reduced gaps in his armor. If Alistair led with a wide enough angle _,_ an opening could be exploited… If he attacked the armpit in Cullen’s armor, the counter would be… Ser Clancy signaled to begin the bout. He’d have to make an opening.

\---

Cullen’s movements told Alistair to focus, _now_. Maker, he’s fast. The first strike came in from the side, and Alistair blocked: shield – sword – counter. Cullen never let the twisty counter bind his sword, but it tested Cullen’s weariness after the bout with Drystan. No luck, or Alistair is just as tired after Sieffre.

\---

Cullen had learned the way to dodge that counter back in Honnleath. He must have done it a thousand times, but the practice paid off. He executed it flawlessly now, using a tiny fraction of his mind as he carded through moves and counter-moves. That one.

\---

The weight of Alistair’s shield distracted him. Block—parry—bind—break apart. He had no trouble holding the shield, but it was heavier than his sword. Attack! Attack! Attack! but never past Cullen’s sword and shield. Regrettably, the shield was only an extra piece of armor. If it were a sword, the weight of the weapon—Foot-slip whoopsie _shit_ open!—recovered. Cullen didn’t press. Fair enough, he’d baited him before. If nothing else, it paid off now, making Cullen cautious when the slip was real. It would be hilarious if he ended up flat on his…

\---

Cullen’s opponent jerked. What was that? Stow it to analyze during meditation while pretending to focus on that blasted candle.

\---

As Cullen started another series of attacks, something clicked in Alistair’s brain. Alistair waited for Cullen to pull his sword back—there!—and pushed suddenly and hard with his _shield_.


	2. Fighting with Mages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen & Alistair discuss battle tactics.

The gang burst merrily into the dining hall. The fragrance of dinner wrapped around them as they jostled together, ass-slapping, back-pounding. Farris loved these moments, when he became a part of something larger than himself. “Pushed?” he applauded. “More like bashed!”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Alistair insisted, still smiling. But Cullen had been laughing, too.

“Yes,” Cullen grimaced good-naturedly. “I landed in the snow bank. Just my self-respect.” He rubbed said self-respect as they joined the line.

“I suppose this helps my ranking, after the last three submissions I’ve handed you.” Alistair boosted anyone he might have upset – for example, by showing them up in a fight. Most of the initiate brothers thought it was a sign of weakness, but Farris had learned it was Alistair’s kindness and humility. A strength. Alistair liked to see others happy, even at the expense of his own happiness.

“Your moves follow a pattern of unpredictability.” Cullen, though, helped as part of something _more_. Cullen’s direction was clear. Follow him to find yours. Right now, he scooped food. Farris picked up a plate.

“Care to clarify?” Alistair asked, trying not to appear stupid, which he _wasn’t_ , but try and convince _him_ of that without making it worse.

“You test, provoke a reaction, try to rile your opponent with a skilled near miss or a flippant gesture. You draw him in, get his focus to narrow to you out of self-preservation, then throw in power moves to control the fight.”

“Self-preservation? Could it be you respect me?” The wonder in Alistair’s voice surprised Farris. _Doesn’t he know?_

“I respect you.” No surprise from Cullen, but he gave Alistair what he needed. Farris realized then he had it backwards. Cullen knew where he was going, but helping people wasn’t coincidental: helping people was the point.

“And how would you use a respected piece such as me, oh chess master?” As he piled turnips onto his plate, Alistair’s tone made light of an honest request.

“I’d pair you with an archer or light fighter. You can keep your opponents’ attention so the light or ranged fighter is less likely to get hit. If you’re with a good one, they’ll pick off your opponents while you’re making _faces_ at them.” Cullen elbowed Alistair, who didn’t react.

Alistair was gazing beyond the walls and spoke as if from far away. “Or a mage.” A mage… What? Made faces at them? Sometimes their friend’s words skipped key thoughts. Farris smiled.

“What?” _Thank you, Cullen! Oh, hey, druffalo roast today._

Alistair blinked his way back to solid ground. “Mages don’t have great armor, either. Something about waving those sticks around, I suppose. If I fought with a mage, imagine the damage they’d do.”

Cullen scoffed. “Not likely.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a templar, Alistair, or will be soon,” Cullen said. “We fight _against_ mages when they become dangerous. Besides, most mages cast area effects. How are you going to avoid getting hit?”

“I won’t avoid it? Templar magic resistance!” Alistair called out over the hall. A few people cheered, but more laughed.

“That’s not enough,” Cullen said, rolling his eyes.

“And elixirs! Remember the Ice Balm in Kinloch?” They’d all been taking shifts at the nearest Circle. “There are recipes matching all of the major elements.”

“Are you even listening?” Cullen asked, and Farris hid a snigger at the irony of that as their group settled at their usual table. These two spoke different languages more often than not. “We protect _from_ magic.”

“But we also protect mages, right? Maybe if you’re traveling with a mage and you get attacked…”

“Ugh, whatever. Yes, Alistair, that would be super effective.”

“Yes!” Alistair fist-pumped victoriously.

Farris never understood why Alistair sought Cullen’s approval. Alistair could stand on his own merit, but he never did. It’s just as well. If Alistair led, Farris’d have to figure out which to follow, which would mean Cullen. Ever since Cullen had thundered into his life, Farris knew where he was going. He would not be an aimless Chantry brother, an exalted clerk; he would be a templar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Farris I guess is technically a canon character? He's in Cullen's entry in World of Thedas 2, and I'm sorry.


End file.
